


sing all your questions to sleep

by ohvictor



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22432267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohvictor/pseuds/ohvictor
Summary: Azuma helps Homare edit a new poem.
Relationships: Arisugawa Homare/Mikage Hisoka/Yukishiro Azuma, Arisugawa Homare/Yukishiro Azuma, Mikage Hisoka/Yukishiro Azuma
Comments: 4
Kudos: 88





	sing all your questions to sleep

**Author's Note:**

> i scraped this together for a3 week day 6, supporting! i think it's supposed to be... the supporting cast... but, 
> 
> i really love this ship so i'm happy to finally publish something for it! i have other wips with this and other poly winter combinations but this one got finished first. sometimes... it's like that. 
> 
> there shouldn't be any spoilers here!
> 
> title is from harbor by vienna teng! you can listen to it and think of azuhisohoma, if you want!

“...an. Azuma-san.”

Azuma slides pleasantly back to consciousness, opening his eyes to find himself laying on Homare’s couch. He blinks and lifts his head, grimacing as his neck immediately protests. (What is he, old?) He can’t move far, he finds, and as he looks down at his chest he identifies the reason: Hisoka is sprawled on top of him, his head tucked under Azuma’s chin, his legs tangled together with Azuma’s. He wasn’t there when Azuma dozed off, but his familiar warmth is welcome. Azuma moves his hand up to Hisoka’s head, careful not to disturb him, and pets his soft hair. 

Homare, whose voice roused Azuma awake, is sitting at his desk, his pretty mouth pulled into a pout. Azuma’s sleep-fogged brain instantly wants to kiss it, but Homare’s several feet out of reach. He’s also surrounded by printed pages of manuscript, books, red pens and black pens, and even a quill and ink, although he doesn’t seem to be using it. Azuma finds himself smiling without having to try. 

“Homare,” he says. His voice is husky with sleep, which he enjoys even if neither of his partners is in the mood to be seduced. “What do you need?”

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Homare sighs, picking up a page from his desk. From the couch, Azuma can see he’s already made a lot of corrections on it in red pen. “Can you read the draft of this poem for me? I’m afraid it isn’t quite what I want, and I’d like a fresh pair of eyes...”

Azuma doubts he will have any useful feedback, but that’s not really why Homare is showing him. He also can’t move to get the paper. “Of course, if you’ll bring it over to me.”

“I could read it aloud to you,” Homare offers, his tone wonderfully genuine. Azuma has met a lot of writers; very few of them will allow anyone to read their drafts aloud, much less read them themselves. Homare’s unflagging appreciation of his own work is a charm point. God, Azuma really wants to kiss him. 

At Azuma’s nod, Homare brandishes the paper in front of his face, clears his throat, and begins to read. He only makes it a few words in, however, before he pauses, his brow furrowing. Azuma waits patiently, a captive audience, as Homare mutters to himself what sounds like the same word over and over, and then scribbles through half of the written first line and replaces it with something else. 

“I apologize,” he tells Azuma. “I think this will be better.”

Clearing his throat again, he proceeds through the new first line. To Azuma, it sounds just as agreeable as the previous version, but Homare nods firmly, obviously satisfied, so Azuma decides the correction must have been important. 

They make it through two more lines of the poem, which is not enough for Azuma to make out what it’s about, before Homare stops again, this time going straight to rewriting the line onto the paper with no muttering. He rereads the new line, nods to himself, and continues, only to stop on a line in the next stanza. 

Azuma watches fondly as Homare murmurs to himself, scribbles on the paper, reads aloud, and repeats. This falls into a familiar pattern of Homare revising his poems, and is similar to what was happening when Azuma fell asleep earlier—but Homare had finished the poem and gone silent by that point, of course. Azuma wouldn’t fall asleep while Homare expected his attention; what kind of partner would he be then? Even if he’s a little drowsy right now, at least some of that can be attributed to his previous nap and Hisoka’s warmth seeping into him from above. 

At any rate, it takes a lot of self-control for Azuma to make to the end of this poem. Homare finally reaches the end, frowns to himself, edits one final word, and rereads the concluding line aloud. He leans back, surveys the paper and all its scribbles, and nods to himself. “It’s growing illegible. I’ll retype it...”

“It’s nice to see it all typed out,” Azuma affirms. “I liked that one.”

Homare’s cheeks color, and he nods several times. “Thank you! I wrote part of it thinking of you.” He turns on his computer monitor and jiggles his mouse a few times to wake it up faster. Homare’s insistence on using a desktop computer is another charm point. 

Now that Homare’s not looking, Azuma feels himself flush. Homare’s written...a _lot_ of poems about Azuma, some even before they started dating, but it still manages to make his heart beat faster knowing that someone he loves thinks of him that way, feels inspired by him. Even if the poems don’t always resonate with Azuma the same way they do Homare, the sentiment behind them shines through. 

“You’re blushing,” comes a voice very close to Azuma’s face. Azuma jumps and looks down to find Hisoka’s one green eye looking up at him, a slight curve to his mouth showing his fond amusement. Azuma can’t kiss Hisoka at this angle, though he wants to; he settles for ruffling Hisoka’s hair in retaliation, which earns him a proper smile. “Is Arisu still editing?” Hisoka murmurs, not bothering to turn his head and look.

“Yes,” Azuma says. “I’m not sure how long we were asleep...”

“He could be here all night.” Hisoka stretches himself out, back arched like a cat, and then relaxes back into his curled pose atop Azuma's chest. “I’m going back to sleep.”

Within moments, he’s done just that; he nestles his cheek against Azuma’s collarbone, his ear pressed to Azuma’s chest, and his breathing evens out naturally. Azuma slips his arms around Hisoka and holds him, not because there’s any danger of him falling off, but because he wants to. He might be imagining things, but it feels like Hisoka snuggles closer to him in his arms. 

Through all of this, the rustling and soft dialogue, Homare’s attention remains fixed on his computer, transcribing the latest version of his poem. Azuma watches Homare’s fingers tap fitfully at the keyboard until he feels his eyelids grow heavy, and he thinks closing them for a moment won’t hurt. 

After all, he’ll wake again soon, and do this labor of love all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](http://twitter.com/futarinoshoutai)!


End file.
